


Fantasies

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Body Worship, Dom/sub, Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the Les Mis kink meme. Five times Courfeyrac fantasized, and one time he didn’t have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasies

Courfeyrac had always been a sexual man. As soon as he’d begun going through puberty, his sex drive had shot up, and he had been needy, wild for fucking, to fuck or be fucked, to dom or to sub, to intoxicate himself with varied pornography and when he was older, when he was confident enough, with varied partners.

And dear God, was Courfeyrac’s mind a dirty one.

He closed his eyes, imagining, imagining. That day had been a busy one, and both Enjolras and Combeferre had been rushed off their feet, concentrating on their work, and God, God, Courfeyrac loved to consider how it would feel to have them concentrate on him like that.

Courfeyrac on the couch, Enjolras on his one side, biting and nipping at his neck and rubbing over his cock, chuckling in that smug little way of his when Courfeyrac let out noises, and God, Combeferre on his other, three fingers fucked into Courfeyrac’s ass as he murmured in Courfeyrac’s ear, and Combeferre knew all too well how wonderfully Combeferre could dirty talk when he felt like it.

"Such a beautiful little toy for us, aren’t you, Courfeyrac? All wound up and ready to go." And Courfeyrac would be whining, arching up and fucking his hips into both of their hands, needing the attention on him, and dear God, it would be so wonderful, so fucking  _good_. 

Combeferre with his fingers buried in Courfeyrac’s ass and thoroughly playing over his prostate, Combeferre growling in his ear, Enjolras joining in and making Courfeyrac  _scream-_

Courfeyrac came with a choked whimper he muffled against his pillow, hand having been moving furiously on his cock. He grinned to himself, dropping back on the bed before looking to his clothes on the side.

He should get up and breakfast, really. Marius would be waiting for him to get up.

—-

There were a few fantasies Courfeyrac could not help but indulge in. Marius was hopelessly devoted to Cosette, and Courfeyrac would never even consider coming between them, but Hell, it was nice to think about.

He thought about Marius on his knees, naked of all his pretty but atrociously fashionable clothes, shivering, hands behind his back. Marius’ lips were so  _pretty_ , after all, and often it was all Courfeyrac could do not to reach out and play over them with his thumb, but God, to imagine them on his  _cock_.

It would be gorgeous, gorgeous, Marius with his lips stretched around Courfeyrac’s cock, cheeks hollowed, mewls and little whines coming right from the back of his throat as he looked up at Courfeyrac with those  _gorgeous_ eyes of his, and God, to pull back as he came, paint that freckled skin in white and leave Marius spluttering even as he begged for more in that quavering tone…

"Courfeyrac?"

"Yes, Pontmercy?" Courfeyrac was coaxed cruelly from his reverie, and he regarded Marius with raised eyebrows.

"Are we going? To the Musain?"

"Ah, yes, of course."

—-

Joly and Bossuet were laughing with Grantaire, shoving the drunkard playfully, affectionately, as they always did. They were good friends of the man, his best friends, really and truly, although Courfeyrac was certainly devoted to the brunet in his own fashion.

Courfeyrac loved Bossuet and Joly. They were good men, full of laughter and good natured joking, and they worked almost in tandem with each other, always knowing what the other was thinking.

Courfeyrac wondered if that fantastic, telepathic power carried onto the bedroom, and felt a moment of envy for Musichetta. But then, he supposed Musichetta was the woman in charge, and Courfeyrac did not want to be in charge of Bossuet and Joly, oh no, he wanted to be between them, let the both of them fuck him at once.

Just to think of it, on his hands and knees with Bossuet fucking forwards, jolting Courfeyrac forwards with the thick length of him in Courfeyrac’s ass, and he would laugh against Courfeyrac’s skin, no doubt, laugh and laugh and tease him, unhurriedly play over Courfeyrac’s cock and then drop it again as if it were a game.

Courfeyrac would like to be a game to Joly and Bossuet - what an astonishingly erotic thought that was. Fucking back onto Bossuet’s cock while Joly fucked into Courfeyrac’s mouth, filled at both ends, mewling and whining between the both of them, and Joly would probably make some silly joke about spitroasting and Bossuet would laugh, and he’d be shook between them as they continued to fuck him between them.

God.  _God_.

He shook his head, adjusting his position and hiding the erection building in his jeans. How  _dare_  they be so interestingly attractive.

He looked to the clock.They would be leaving the Musain soon, and moving elsewhere.

—-

"Ah, you should seat yourself in my lap, good lady, a better seat than any other here!" Bahorel said in a fine tone after they settled in the bar, and she laughed, shoved him, and seated herself thusly, straddling his thighs. Courfeyrac regarded the both of them with interest, ignoring his phone momentarily.

Courfeyrac considered Bahorel’s fine muscles as he pulled his laughing mistress close, considered his thighs. Bahorel was a strong man, certainly, but Courfeyrac had never been interested in the other’s ability to hold him down.

No, Courfeyrac imagined fucking himself down on Bahorel’s cock, slow at the pace of his own choice, grinning down at Bahorel in a smug fashion. Oh, and Bahorel would both love and hate it at the same time, so used to being in charge with his hard earned muscle and fighting skill, would let out low, short sounds as Courfeyrac  _teased_  - because while Courfeyrac was a good man, most of all, he was a tease.

He considered it, considered milking Bahorel’s cock by clenching himself tightly around the other man, and judging by his large stature he was thick, beautifully so, and he would fill Courfeyrac delightfully if he ever chose to indulge and if Bahorel ever considered the other team.

God, how delightful that would be, to have Bahorel biting his lip, trying to hold back from begging, letting out grunts and desperate noises as he fell apart beneath Courfeyrac, as many men had before him.

Courfeyrac grinned to himself, and looked back to his phone as he waited for the show to begin.

—-

Jehan had a pretty mouth. It wasn’t pretty in the same way Marius’ was, in that sweet, quivering fashion, nor in the way Enjolras’ was, in the way they captivated a listener’s gaze when he began to orate. Jehan’s lips were someone a beautiful combination of two qualities, and his voice was sweet and charming in a way Enjolras’ tones were always too angry to muster.

Courfeyrac liked Jehan’s lips. They establishment was smoky and full of people, but all had gone silent now and Jehan was up on the stage, speaking, bringing out beautiful words, bringing out poetry that was spoken song, and Courfeyrac was smiling as he watched Jehan orate with ne’er a stutter nor stammer.

Courfeyrac closed his eyes, letting Jehan’s poetry wash over him, and considered that poetry in a different context, thought of himself laid out on his bed or on Jehan’s floral sheets, on his back with Jehan murmuring those same pretty words against his skin and following the soft touch of them with clever hands stained with ink.

He thought of Jehan slowly rocking himself down on Courfeyrac’s cock as he continued to speak, and Courfeyrac would be silent, silent, listening. God, to think of it, to think of Jehan purring against his skin, dragging his nails over Courfeyrac and leaving marks beneath his attentions, dear God above…

There was applause, and Courfeyrac looked up. Grantaire tapped his shoulder, and indicated for Courfeyrac to follow him from the bar.

—-

Courfeyrac dropped to his knees when Grantaire’s apartment door closed behind them, in the middle of Grantaire’s living room, his hands dropping loosely to his knees to rest there, fingers splayed.

"How many fantasies did you indulge in today, Courfeyrac?" Grantaire asked as he moved behind the counter that separated Grantaire’s lounge and his kitchen, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, and pouring a glass of tropical juice for Courfeyrac because he knew the other man preferred something sweeter.

"Five, sir." Courfeyrac said in a quiet voice, knowing Grantaire would hear him, and knowing that Grantaire’s response would be wonderful.

"Five? You’ve been distracted today."

"Yes, sir."

"Come, tell me the first."

"Combeferre and Enjolras, sir."

"Again?" Grantaire tutted, carefully dropping to the ground and seating himself cross-legged in front of Courfeyrac, contentedly, casually. He took a sip from his glass and leaned forwards, putting Courfeyrac’s own to his lips, and the centre drank obediently.

And then he put both glasses aside, and regarded Courfeyrac expectantly. “Come now, boy, tell me what they did to you in this fantasy.”

"How will you reward me when I tell you all?"

"I won’t reward you at all if you try and tease." Grantaire said cleverly, reaching forwards and unbuttoning Courfeyrac’s shirt. "I’ll punish you with a sharp hand."

"You would spank me?"

"Ha. You wish. No, Courfeyrac, I would tease and tease and leave you on edge with no release for  _hours_.” Courfeyrac beamed, pressing closer as Grantaire’s hands moved over Courfeyrac’s skin, enjoying the warmth of his touch, enjoying Grantaire’s indulgent expression. 

"Then I will tell you."

"Please, do." And Courfeyrac smiled, and he thought of Enjolras and Combeferre’s cleverness, Joly and Bossuet’s jokes, Marius’ quivering lips, Jehan’s poetry, Bahorel’s cock. And then he began to speak, and Grantaire’s smile was a reward in its own right.


End file.
